


Brother Bleed Brother

by parsleylion



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsleylion/pseuds/parsleylion
Summary: Chester doesn’t take kindly to the dirty thoughts that Brad’s been having about him





	Brother Bleed Brother

Brad Delson seems somewhat flattered when you stop him mid sentence by leaning across the table and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiles at you and blushes, he’s forgotten what the hell he was talking to you about and he begins to stutter out incoherent words as you lean back on the couch and stare back at him. You seem to have that effect on him. Shame.

  
  


It’s hot on the bus and as Brad tries to speak once again you get up and stretch out your arms, slowly peel off your shirt and drop it down on the floor. That’s got his attention. He’s staring at you wide eyed, and this time you know he’s completely forgotten what he was talking about. You lick your lips, take pride in knowing your actions are having the desired effect as you turn away and walk over to the fridge.

  
  


You sway your hips a little because you know damn well that his stare is locked on you. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you open the door to the refrigerator and take out a pack of beer that Mike probably bought the other day. You blame Mike for all of this, because he’s the only one who drinks beer and therefore it’s his fault that you’re about to get Brad intoxicated. It makes sense in your head as you shut the door and turn back to look at Brad who’s still wide eyed and flushed in the cheeks.

  
  


You stride back over to him and slam the six pack down on the table. Tearing into it, you pull out two of the ice cold bottles, crack the lids off and pass him one before sitting down on the table, giving him no option but to look at you. Well, he could look at the floor, or at the ceiling but then it would make it obvious he was avoiding eye contact with you, which Brad thinks would offend you and Brad doesn’t like to offend, and that’s why you’ve sat right in front of him, knowing damn well that he’ll feel obliged to stay there, because that’s Brad for you. He’d never hurt anyone’s feelings. Well, not intentionally, which is ironic really because that’s what this is all about; he  _has_  hurt your feelings. Big time.

  
  


He’s still holding onto the bottle by the time you’ve downed half of yours. You tilt your head to the side and watch him for a second. He’s staring back and he’s looking rather perplexed. You can’t help but smile and lean forward, cupping his clammy face with your hand.

  
  


“You have something to tell me,” You whisper, your voice deep in the still air.

  
  


He nods and swiftly places the bottle to his lips, swallowing down a large mouthful of the cold beer. You wait for him to finish his drink before you speak again. He looks nervous, on edge as you lean forward and take the empty bottle from his hands. It’s placed down on the table behind you and you swing your legs around, body now facing him as you place your feet either side of his thighs.

  
  


“So then?” You ask, loving the way his body seems to have tensed up, even more so when you lean forward, closing the gap between you even more.

  
  


He stares back at you. He knows that you know about his dreams the other week. He knows full well that you heard him during the night, that you watched him writhe around in his bed and were kept awake by the throaty growls that escaped his lips and flooded the hotel room. He knows you know, that’s why he’s barely spoken to you ever since. He’s been edgy all the time. He’s tried to subtly move away whenever you touch him on purpose, or lean real close to whisper some smutty joke in his ear. You like that. You like the fact that for once in your life you’ve got power. You don’t want to let it go. You’re not going to let it go. This is your chance and you are not letting it slip from your pretty little fingers. You’ve never tasted control before in your life and you like it. It’s gone to your head and you know that it’s going to end dramatically because deep down you’re a wild card, and this card, it just got dealt with added danger.

  
  


“How did it feel?” You whisper, taking another beer from the pack and replacing the empty bottle in Brad’s clutch with it.

  
  


“What?” he asks, gulping slightly as he untwists the cap.

  
  


You hear the crunch of the seal as it breaks. You can feel the fear in him as he takes a swig from the

bottle. You can hear him gulp down the mouthful of the bittersweet liquid, and noticing a droplet has begun to slide down his chin, you extend your arm, wipe your finger over the trail of beer and stare him dead in the eyes as he completely loses his composure. You’ve got him now.

  
  


“In the story you wrote,” You whisper, taking the chance to lean forward as you slide your finger inside your warm mouth and suck off the sticky liquid, “How did it feel when you were fucking me in those sick, fucked up fantasies you’ve been writing about?”

  
  


His cheeks are burning crimson red, he gulps down more of his beer and stares back at you, not sure what to say you suppose. Well of course he’s not sure. He never is good in confrontational situations, least of all when you, his best friend, have just asked him how his wet dream about you felt; how the fantasies make him feel. You can’t help but snigger though. Inwardly of course. You can’t turn this into a joke. You want to make him sweat. And how would you do that, how could you make your revenge on him work if the crack you just snorted fuses your mind and you’re giggling to high heaven? No, you’ll wait until the sorry job is done. Then you’ll laugh. You’ll laugh until you cry. You’ll cry and choke on your laughter and there’ll be tears streaming down your cheeks. You won’t be able to breathe. And then what?

  
  


You don’t know.  _Yet._

  
  


Brad doesn’t seemed to have moved since the words you last whispered were poured from your lips. He’s sitting dead still, frozen, like he daren’t move an inch. You like that, so you edge closer, brush your hand across his face, sweep your fingertips under his chin and tilt his head so that he  _has_  to look at you.

  
  


“It… I don’t…”

  
  


You smile and grip his chin that bit tighter.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “It was a one off. It didn’t make…”

  
  


“A one off?” You smirk, “That’s not what Mike told me. Apparently there’s a whole collection in the notebooks under your mattress.”

  
  


You’ve got him now. He leans back against the couch and rakes his hands through his hair. Of course, Mike didn’t tell you a thing. Why would he? Mike hasn’t spoken to you for about three weeks, ever since touring started again and you found him in his bunk snorting a line of cocaine of some rent boys stomach. Taut stomach, you hasten to add. No, you found the tattered notebook yourself, after getting the cleaning bug late one afternoon and being the sweetheart you are you decided to freshen up the bunks for everyone. You thought something had been going on behind your back. Your suspicions were right when you found several tattered notebooks and some floppy discs belonging to your so called best friend. And your eyes they read innocently from the pages, cheeks burning up, heart pounding as the block letters formed by Brad’s own fair hand danced back at you, unnerving you with stories of the pair of you downing tequilas and making love under moonlit skies. Darker pieces of Brad getting you drunk, helping you home and fumbling with you in the dark depths of your bedroom, his hands running all over your body and taking more than just advantage as he fucked your drunken self into oblivion. It made you sick. It made your skin crawl. It made you nervous.

  
  


Brad seems nervous now. He’s fidgeting and you swear you can hear his heart beating. That dull thud, thud, thud, planting it’s rhythmic beat into your head. You can’t let that distract you though, can you?

No, you have a job to do.

  
  


“So then?” You ask, leaning forward, smirking and tracing your hands over the outline of his chin.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Please don’t be angry with me.”

  
  


You almost laugh.

  
  


“Why would I be angry?”

  
  


He frowns. He bites his bottom lip. His eyes follow your fingers as they slide down his neck, tracing the soft skin and gliding over his adam’s apple. You shiver inside, but on the outside you stay still, composed as you lean closer still, until your lips are practically grazing against his. It’s funny really. You’ve always had a penchant for guys like Brad, your surrogate brother. Another of the unintentionally nice people on Earth, the ones with caring hands and caring souls; the ones you’d trust with your deepest, darkest secrets and what does Brad do with that trust? He masturbates over worn pictures of you, he makes you feel like he wants to be with his best friend, when really he wants you near his side so he can get off on your scent, touch you by accident and all those times he spent mopping up your tears; well it’s clear that he was damn well enjoying it when you clung to his body for dear life. You feel violated. You feel betrayed, angry that you ever dared to trust him and so your other hand slides around his neck and you hear him emit a sharp squeak as your grip tightens and your tongue darts out.

  
  


“Tell me you liked it,” You whisper, “Tell me you fucking well liked it.”

  
  


You feel him gulp underneath your hands, the rise and fall of his neck sending a tingling sensation down your spine.

  
  


“I liked it,” he replies.

  
  


“That’s what I wanted to hear,” You purr, “I just wanted to know you thought it was worth it.”

  
  


You’re watching his eyes, watching the way his pupils are fixed on yours. You can sense the hunger inside them, the need that’s waiting behind those eyes. You like it. It turns you on and you grab that moment to kiss him. You push your lips against his and you kiss him. Not softly. Not gently. You kiss him so hard that his lips start to bleed. You don’t care and neither does he by the sound of things because his arms are around your neck, fingers digging into your shoulders as you push him hard into the back of the couch.

  
  


And then you shoot him. Pistol taken from your back pocket. Muted, no bang, no noise, just that final gasp from Brad Delson as the bullet dives into his heart. No more dirty stories from him.

  
  


Fucker.


End file.
